“I want to die,” he cried. “I want to be with Rhys.”

“No,” Brooke said. “There’s been enough death and destruction. Please, Patrick. Please don’t add to my pain.” She reached out her hand. “Look at me.”

Patrick did. Brooke waited until she was sure that he was looking her in the eye.

“I forgive you,” she said. “You were just a little boy. It’s not your fault. Rhys, my son, your friend . . . He wouldn’t want this, Patrick. If it was the other way around, if Rhys had shot you, would you forgive him?”

The gun shook in Patrick’s hand.

“Would you?”

Patrick nodded.

“Please, Patrick. Give me the gun.”

The wind seemed to stop. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Even the trees seemed to be holding their breath. Brooke quickly closed the gap between them. Patrick hesitated, and for a second, Myron thought that he was still going to pull the trigger.

When Brooke reached out and took hold of the gun, Patrick fell into her arms. He let out a guttural cry and started sobbing. Brooke closed her eyes and held him.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Brooke looked out over the ravine, the place where her son had lain for the last ten years. She gripped the boy tighter, and finally, Brooke broke down and cried with him. They stood there, the two of them—the mother of a dead boy holding firm to the boy who had killed him.

Nancy Moore approached carefully. Brooke looked at her over Patrick’s shoulder. Their eyes met. Nancy mouthed the words, “Thank you,” and Brooke nodded at her. But she didn’t let go of Patrick. She didn’t let go until the boy finished crying.

Chapter 36

The police brought up the body four hours later.

Hunter Moore was in the hospital for his bullet wounds. He would be okay. Vada Linna was fine. She had told Win and Brooke the entire truth. That was indeed why she’d come back. Hunter might be up on kidnapping charges. It was hard to know for sure.

Nancy Moore had been taken into custody, but her attorney, Hester Crimstein, got her out on her own recognizance within the hour. Nancy had been correct. No serious charges would stick to her.

Win said, “You should go home.”

Myron shook his head. He had stayed this long. He wasn’t leaving yet.

The body was just bones now, but the clothing was intact. Brooke walked over and stroked the red sweatshirt and the blue jeans.

“Rhys’s,” she said.

Brooke stood without another word and started back toward her car. Win followed, but she shook her head. “You go back with Myron. I need time alone. And I need to tell Chick myself.”

Win said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I love you,” she said, “but I don’t really care what you think.”

They watched Brooke walk away with her spine straight. She got into the car and drove away.

“Come on,” Win said. “Let’s go home.”